


Houston, We Have Liftoff!

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Series: LowRes [4]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Car Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Sneaky Sex, Stoned Sex, Weed, wrenchy highjinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 10:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11160327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Anonymous asked: just had a fanfic idea for you. having sex with wrench after getting stoned af ❤A/N: Yes, please and thank you, Anon. This was fun as fuck to write. (It's been awhile since I last smoked, but I hope it feels believable enough ) Also, here's my Wrench Spotify playlist in case anyone missed it and wants to listen along https://open.spotify.com/user/1248140777/playlist/4Nt0ZqYqA67vXTTIdLcNpk





	Houston, We Have Liftoff!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).



Frisco was two days immersed in torrential rains with another few days still left to go. With the weather being as shit as it had been, there were fewer outings and more focus on solving their biggest issues via transfer and remote hacking. Since the remote shit was your’s and Josh’s bag, a lot of the workload fell on the two of you. 

Your collective shoulders bearing the 'heavy' burden. 

While you didn't bother with a full night's sleep, going off hour power naps, Josh was endless to the point of insanity. With a steady supply of energy drinks, Josh could go all night and then some. He just worked differently than you - different than everyone. It was admirable to the point of mild envy, and though you enjoyed staying huddled on the couch with a blanket, some coffee, and your laptop, by the thirty-six-hour mark you were feeling a bit unhinged. 

The word ‘stressed’ comes to mind. 

It doesn't help that everyone, including Horatio and T-Bone, were hanging around HQ instead of ‘not arguing’ somewhere else. Even Wrench was getting on your nerves to an extent, refusing to let you ‘wedge the stick back up your ass,’ as he so lovingly put it. Despite having him around to burn the coffee and poke you awake when your phone alarm doesn't do its job, Wrench enjoys his fair share of aggressive and passive aggressive moments with the veteran hacker. 

You and Sitara shared a few looks of distant despair, but Sitara liked to throw shade on T-Bone as much as anyone, and it was so elegantly thrown that you almost thought it could be some weird courtship ritual. 

Ray (T-Bone), deserved the grief sometimes, but the hard truth was, none of them would have come this far without him, and sure as fuck, you wouldn't be getting into the Tezca’s accounts this quickly. Every firewall was automatically bypassed thanks to his backdoor access. 

You’re on your third cup of liquid diet - coffee - when Marcus’ laptop slams shut; loud over the music coming from Wrench’s workbench. 

“Yo, fuck this you guys,” Marcus announces, already shrugging on a thick, leather jacket and that ridiculous fedora looking hat, “I’m going out. We could all use some food-”

“Hey, yo? What do you call this?” Wrench cuts in, nearly singing the words on a cloud of electric amusement. He shakes a styrofoam cup of instant noodles; double carets blazing while a soldering iron balances on the other hand like some edgy composer.

The ramen cup gets a look of painful disgust from Marcus, “Naw, man. I mean real food, you know? The kind that doesn’t require a microwave. You don’t actually like that shit?”

“Don’t go all white hat on me about nutrition, M. It works for the Japanese! - and they're some busy beavers. I mean, where do you think microchips come from?” was Wrench’s response, deciding that was a good enough excuse despite having about six empty cups scattered around his desk. 

Marcus was right. Even for Wrench, this was unhealthy…

They all needed something other than energy drinks and processed garbage food. You needed something other than coffee, and whatever Wrench fed you via his stained microwave… which, you're pretty sure he heats his epoxy in as well. It would explain the plastic taste on everything that comes out of it. 

“We ain't gonna get anywhere without some food and a break, and you all know it,” Marcus continues, waving a shrugging Wrench away. 

Sitara nods beside the chugging Epson printer and throws a smirk towards your spiked partner in crime, “Can't deny that, Wrench. How else are you going to keep your girlish figure?”

Wrench inhales like a wounded Shakespearian actor, “People appreciate me for qualities other than this pretty face and my exceptional birthing hips, just ask LowRes.”

You shrink, narrowing your eyes. Though Wrench doesn't turn around, you know he can feel the look. The way the shadows play off the leather highlights on his mask tells you he's smirking and that, coupled with the double-carets, makes you equal parts lovesick and frustrated. 

“Still,” Marcus interjects, smirking, “man’s gotta eat and that shit isn't food no matter which way you package it. Home girl would agree, ain't that right?” He looks over at you with a smile and lo and behold, you deflate. 

“Marcus' got a point,” you mumble, catching the way Wrench throws you twin x’s before they flash into underscores. 

“Traitor,” Wrench seethes. 

You laugh, stomach growling at the idea of food, and peer at the rest of them over the edge of the couch. Sitara, looking blandly amused, just shrugs. Josh has since walked his chair out from around the divider, staring silently at everyone. Horatio’s already stuffing his arms through a jacket, apparently ready to get the fuck out as much as Marcus is. T-Bone stands off to the side, listening, but doesn’t look up from his phone. And you? - you just twist back around, take a sip of lukewarm coffee and get back to the ‘crypto shit.'

Food sounded good, but you’ll face the rain later and pick yourself up something a bit less greasy. Once you get hungry and desperate enough, the heavy downpour won't deter you any. Besides, Marcus never got your orders right anyhow.

Discussions over who wanted what, how much and what ethnic cuisine it was gonna be this time, gradually turn into background chatter. After a few minutes you can't even tell if they’d left or not, but after copy-pasting a few decrypted passcodes, cracking your knuckles in the silence, your surroundings come back online. 

Muted punk-core filters out from Wrench’s workbench. 

You still have trouble looking at the untreated wood without getting flashbacks to that evening where he'd fucked you over it. The remembrance still makes your stomach flutter excitedly, just as much as thinking about the first time you'd had sex with him and all the times since… every moment since has been really, very good. 

Just thinking about thinking about it makes you skim the vacant workbench, finding the exact spot where you'd glimpsed Wrench’s face in the dead monitor. Since then you haven't seen his face… nor mentioned having seen it. Sometimes you find yourself wanting to ask, or… hoping he'd offer, but what little you know about Wrench before he assumed the mask and the moniker, doesn't sound like the confident Wrench you know. 

One day he’ll feel comfortable enough to show you what's underneath or maybe he won't, and that'll be all right too, you tell yourself. 

With a quiet sigh, feeling an itchy blush pull at your cheeks. Slowly, you turn back towards your laptop and-

“Fuck-shit!” You scream, kicking a foot out only to sock a sultry-posed Wrench in the gut. Air leaks out of his mask in a ‘whoosh’ and just like that he’s rolling around on the floor, curling up with a staticky whine…

Shit.

Immediately guilt comes crashing down along with petulance. How the fuck - where the fuck did he come from?! He's like a ninja, you think wildly. Suicidal punk ninja. 

“... fuuucking fuck… ugh, I think you jostled my chestburster.”

You bristle, setting aside your laptop with a red face and grimace. Covering up your concern with a glare, you sink to the floor with him, rubbing his arm with a thin expression, “Sorry but… you kinda left yourself open for that one. Plus, a chestburster wouldn’t dare lay dormant in your stomach. It’s the ribs that keep it safe.”

“Neeeerrrd…” he wheezes. 

“Oh, sure,” you smile despite yourself, patting his hooded head as his mask dips into underscores, “so says the dude that tried to reenact Training Day by taking his girlfriend to a back alley drug deal. Also, I was promised a drone race, which I also never got, along with a steak dinner.”

“I don’t know, that rehash of events feels off,” Wrench breathes, thin static lacing each word, “I don’t remember there being any drugs involved or steak promises, plus I did that thing with my-”

“Dude,” you point to the bench, “there’s a huge sack - a fucking Santa sack of weed under the blowtorch. Honestly? I'm surprised Ray hasn’t stolen it yet.”

Out of sight, from his corner, Josh pipes in, “I saw him take a handful from the bag a few days ago, I think he assumed Wrench wouldn't notice.”

Wrench yawns. “Not surprised our resident, greasy Santa would dig around in my sack of goodies,” his long exhale of adorable crackles makes you smile all lovey dovey despite yourself. Nearly dying aside, dating Wrench was pretty awesome. 

“Where is Ray, anyway?” you ask; voice raised enough so Josh can hear you over the divider of Wrench’s music, “I thought he was stewing in there with you, Josh.” 

The whine of a computer chair screeches over the din of punk music and from the back room, Josh shuffles into view. He spares a quick look at Wrench while the anarchist wiggles across the floor to wrap a dense arm around your hip; mask displaying double-carets despite the fact you kicked him just a minute ago. Weirdo.

Josh looks on passively while Wrench tries to tickle your sides with long fingers, but if it hadn’t worked the other dozen times he’s tried, it won't work now. 

Tearing his eyes off Wrench, Josh gives you a muted look and mutters, “He went with Marcus, Sitara and Horatio to pick up the Chinese food. I told them to get you chicken skewers with the dumplings. No rice.”

You tip your head back, resting your shoulders on the edge of the couch and smile, “You’re the best.”

Josh smiles; eyes unabashedly on yours.

From down on the floor, with inked arms splayed loosely around your hips, Wrench blinks questions marks, “So… wait, what am I then? - your trophy wife?”

You give Wrench a sideways look, and boop your middle finger over the bare patch of leather where his nose rests, “You're the guy that didn’t think to put an order in for his bacon-bringing husband.”

Wrench scoffs as he emotes double x’s, “Marky Mark never gets your order right. I, on the other hand, have a veritable stockpile of spicy ramen and hot pockets… even chick’ennn flavor.” A tilde-caret wink makes the offer sound way more charming than it should be. 

“I’d have to be real stoned to eat a fucking hot pocket,” you inform him, poking a spike under his happy LEDs.

“That can be arranged,” Wrench offers, or threatens - you can’t be entirely sure what type of mood he’s leaning towards today. The rain has made everyone a little off kilter… and over the past day or so you’ve witnessed Wrench go from cracking jokes to rearing up for a fight at least three separate times. Unpredictable and as stable as the bomb you know he’s got hidden somewhere.

“Can we?” Josh asks from across the room, looking tentatively hopeful. When Wrench makes a questioning sound against your knee, Josh swallows audibly, knee bouncing, “Can we smoke some?”

With parted lips, you look from Josh to Wrench, watch his spiked mask turn and blink double x’s before exclamations replace them as he nods. You’ve only ever seen Josh high the once, and though you weren’t necessarily into the idea of getting stoned today, the idea of vegging out on the couch with the two of them, while they all wait for Chinese food, turns you over to the idea rather quickly. Wrench must be rubbing off on you because in the past month you’ve done more hair-brained, dastardly shit than you’ve done in your whole life.

Said human wrecking ball looks up at you with blazing question marks, palms and long engineering fingers spread over the swell of your hips in silent eagerness. Think of it as friendly bonding; you tell yourself as you shrug by way of agreement. 

Ten minutes later, Wrench’s LED’s break into lines of rainbow and error-feed as he lifts it up just enough to slide the end of a freshly rolled joint underneath the slip of leather. The pale jut of his chin makes your stomach flutter, but while it’s uncommon to see the naked skin, it’s not exactly rare within your small group. If they’re drinking or munching down on a shared meal, it’s par for the course the someone might get lucky and gonna catch a glimpse of Wrench’s chin… and maybe the puff of a lower lip if the stars are aligned just right.

Josh blinks and stares silently, sitting cross-legged beside you on the couch while Wrench lights the twisted tip with a graffiti-sprinkled blowtorch. The emotes on his mask flash and cut from one to the next while he inhales the first hit. His chest expands, stretching the DedSec hoodie until a stream of smoke gushes out from underneath the mask. For some reason the full sight makes you feel oddly… aroused. 

“Ooo… yum,” Wrench professes, “I think I can taste the Big Bang.”

“When everyone gets back you're gonna have to roll another one of these,” you tell him, taking the offered joint as Wrench huffs and puffs and knocks your elbow with his own. 

“Good thing I've got enough for now, later AND the coming apocalypse, maybe the next two apocalypses.”

The weed tastes like grape cola and sweet earth, sufficient enough to make you crave something wet while it warms your lungs, sliding hot and smooth down your throat. With a lungful, you swallow and give Wrench a sideways smirk, “I think… Ray would... disagree.”

Josh plucks the joint from your fingers as you exhale a thin cloud of smoke, coughing long enough to feel slightly ashamed, but not enough to blush under Wrench’s gazing double x’s. The mask is set loose over his chin, but the feedback has linked up to his facial expressions again and one sweet smile sent his way gets you a tilde-caret wink and a soft pinch to your thigh, sending warm bliss through your jeans. 

Josh inhales beside you, looking pleased as a billowy cloud leaks out of his nostrils. His lips smack, tasting the tang of it.

“Taste like grape cola,” he remarks.

Without even feeling the effects of your first puff yet, you laugh quietly, pressing back into the couch as Josh reaches an arm in front of you and passes the burning spliff back to Wrench.

Puff, puff, and pass - it goes on until the joint barely fits between your pinched nails, heating up your tongue, down your throat and into your lungs to the point of near burning. The fresh taste of grape and earth has molded into a tar-like sweetness, like burnt sugar and something vaguely plastic. 

Josh watches with bloodshot eyes, focusing on the roach with a loose neck before tentatively taking it from your nails. He finishes it, much to Wrench’s amusement.

“You, my friend, are worthy of The Caterpillar Medal of Honor - no! The Chong Award! Chinese chicken! Caterpillar… chicken… man, I’m hungry.” Wrench trails off, deflating into the couch with at symbols falling into underscores. Josh smiles carefully as if taking Wrench’s words to heart. Their relationship has always fascinated you. On the one hand, Wrench could be a bit of an asshole, while poor sweet Josh either argued back, unphased, or apologized for something that wasn’t his fault, and while those moments captured everyone's attentions, it didn’t mean they butted heads often. Most of the time Wrench was just as fiercely protective of Josh as he was of Marcus or you for that matter. 

“Give it here, buddy,” Wrench says, lifting a loose fist in front of you. Josh turns, eyes hooded and distant, before focusing in on the offered fist bump. You watch, under a mess of bangs and a cloudy high as Josh and Wrench complete an adorable, half awkward, side-fist bump.

Like brothers. 

For some reason, everything clicks. They act like siblings - like an older brother teasing the younger one or vice versa and all the sweet moments in between. Feeling gooey and sentimental, and very high, you exhale loudly, wedging your arms around the backs of their necks and drag them in for double neck hugs. 

“I,” you beam, “fucking love you guys.” 

You grin like an idiot, closing your eyes as Wrench pats your knee and Josh groans at the contact, but doesn’t shy away from it. A tight pressure around your head spins you just as quickly into a bout of nerves as it does away from it. 

That weed… was strong - is strong. Fuck...

Next thing you know, Wrench is sneaking his arm around your lower back, tugging you just that little bit closer to him with the pads of his fingers dug into the slack of your shirt. His pinky finger thrusts under the hem to touch bare hip. It tickles, but not enough to make you giggle, just enough to make you breathe loudly and blush. 

Blame it on the weed, but you’re getting hot and bothered despite the fact that your arms are slung around both Wrench and Josh. Though, to be fair, Josh looks half asleep as Wrench flips through channels on the TV’s too fast to decode each image accurately. It’s just that… you don’t get high often, and you’ve never been touched while high either… and Wrench’s touch makes you feel stoned while sober, so the combination of him and the weed is making things, which probably shouldn't pulse, pulse and pound.

The intimate grasp Wrench has on your hip dips, sliding below the slack of your shirt and then further down, teasing the hem of your jeans. 

“... hey,” you whisper, so faint it’s just barely a breath, but either Wrench doesn’t hear or plays dumb, because his middle finger slips down, edging under your underwear to lay hotly down the gentle slope of your hip bone. It makes you swallow, the touch and the casual way he leans his head back, flicking channels until bright cartoons lands on every screen. The unreadable double x’s don't give anything away, leaving you breathing heavily while Wrench appears nonchalant as can fucking be. High-pitched voices chatter nonsensically through the speakers, and with a great breath, you relax despite the one finger under your clothes turning into two and then three.

“We should do this more often,” Josh mentions; voice even but slower than usual, “I’m growing mushrooms in my locker, we should do those when they’re ready.”

Wrench lifts a leg up over your knee, snuggling in with that hand buried under denim and cotton underwear; fingertips nearly meeting that soft crease between thigh and mons. Static chuckles erupt from his mask as he raises the remote in the air with a flourish before changing the channel again, “I never did find Waldo that one times. Me and that fuckstick have a score to settle.”

You shake your head, trying to dispel the spell Wrench and his hand currently has over you. “... guess I’ll be the designated couch potato for that trip then. I’ve never done shrooms before,” you say carefully. 

“I like them,” Josh states. “You’ll like them, too.”

Somehow you doubt that, but let him think that if he wants. With a smile, you slip your arm off Josh to punch him gently on the side of his knee, “Yeah, thanks, but I’ll pass. You two can have fun, and I’ll be the gatekeeper, sound fair?”

Wrench’s fingers flex and wedge a scant half inch deeper until you jerk your knee out from under his leg, letting his heel drop to the floor. You glare and wiggle your hips until, with an electric whine, he pulls his fingers out and lays them over your hip. It isn’t until Josh is slumped against the support beam, eyes closed with a little smile on his face, that you tug on Wrench’s leather lapel, nudging your face inside the drape of his hood to whisper in his ear, “... you think you’re such a fucking rebel don’t you?”

A small, hot sound leaks out the perforated leather over his face, exposing how much it affects him when you call him out on shit like this. There’s a part of Wrench that’s a bit submissive, but you’re not comfortable exploring that side of him yet, nor that side of yourself for that matter.

But right now? - right now you’re cooking under the high and his attentions. It’s nothing like being drunk. You don’t feel inhibited necessarily, but it’s obvious the joint has made you a bit more forward than usual. Less patient, too.

Wrench hesitates, but eventually, his fingers tease the hem of your shirt back up, stroking the warm expanse of your side until his short nails hit the seam of your bra. It's a daring move considering Josh is right beside you. 

The shadow that grows between his thighs, pulling at the denim wrinkles, makes you smirk and flick your tongue along the crest of Wrench’s ear - just light enough to tease. The side view of stars glow on his mask and through the leather, he wheezes softly. 

Wrench likes to tease; he’s all about making you blush and seeing how much he can get away with before you show him where the line is. He never crosses the lines you establish, but he never stops teasing, and Wrench can dish it out in spades, but he can’t take it without melting. It’s charming… kind of adorable and sweet and watching him - feeling him - tremble when you turn the tables, makes you about as horny as you’d been the first time. 

The gang will be back any minute, and while Josh looks asleep, he’s probably toeing the edge of it at best, and even if he were passed out, you wouldn’t dare do anything seedy with Wrench within earshot of him. There is, however, one place they could go, but…

Against his warm neck, you sigh and part your lips just at the edge of his hairline, “Do you have the keys to that van Marcus brought back?” 

Asking feels bold, but you’ve done bolder and more with Wrench before, so asking and implying doesn’t feel so dangerous. Could be the weed swimming in your head that makes the whole thing feel genius idea as opposed to reckless, but it’s probably just the effect Wrench has on you, merely amplified by the pot.

“...who needs keys when you have a crowbar, am I right?” Wrench breathes, sounding like the line of hard dick straining the seam of his jeans hurts. It seems like it would be, you guess, planting a soft kiss at the slope of his neck before ejecting yourself from the couch. The warm expanse of his hand falls away, leaving you cold and desperate.

“Get what you need then,” you tell him, as casually as you can in case Josh is still aware of the world. 

You turn, leaving Wrench with double hearts, spread legs and an open palm grasping at the air between you. Josh is slumped; eyes closed and lips parted. A light shine of drool gleams on his lower lip, enough that you smile warmly before resting a few fingers on his shoulder, nudging him.

“Hey - Josh… hey?”

His lashes flutter, eyes cracking open. Super stoned, you realize. His eyes are cloudy and bloodshot, but he blinks and gives you a contented smile before you squeeze his shoulder and kneel down low, “Wrench and I are going to run a quick errand, you gonna be alright for a bit?”

“It’s rare to experience negative reactions to this strain. Indica is a body high primarily. Besides, everyone will be back soon,” Josh tells you, slightly slurred, but same as usual for the most part. 

With a side-smirk, you lift your phone out of your pocket and shake it twice for emphasis, “Just buzz me if you get stir crazy, we shouldn’t be long.”

“I know what you’re going to do; you don’t have to pretend.”

Those nerves come back like a gut punch, making silent excuses fumble around your tongue. With all the elegance of a drunk squirrel, you stutter before swallowing thickly. “Josh, I’m too stoned for that, just- just pretend it’s not obvious, please,” you beg, feeling your face burn hotter than a fucking red dwarf on its last legs.

“Okay. It’s not obvious.”

“What’s not obvious? - what are we talking about?” Wrench appears with a brown paper bag wrapped around the neck of an umbrella, and a crowbar slung over his right shoulder, looking between you and Josh with question marks that dip into ellipses. “Are you two plotting something nefarious? Because I would take it as a personal slight if you left me out. Nefarious is my middle name - for all you know, it could be my last name.”

The face you make must be wicked, because Wrench’s mask lights up with double-zeros for a second before switching to a fetching tilde-caret wink.

“Wrench The Nefarious,” he declares, waving the crowbar in a long arch, “Do you hear that? - how it just rolls off the tongue like that?” The static-laced words punctuate a showman’s twirl of his crowbar, and the audible clink of metal on metal as it falls back over his spiked shoulder.

Josh tips to the side, lying stiff yet smiling against the couch. You gesture to your phone one last time before pocketing it. 

He’s not a child, but between you and Sitara there’s a primitive urge to keep him safe. Pure cinnamon roll, and all that jazz and he has a habit of bringing out the mom in both of you. One last look to Josh on the couch and you’re throwing on an oversized army jacket, tucking the collar over your head with a shy grin. Wrench’s mask flashes stars before a tattooed arm is slipping in between you and thick canvas; hugging you close.

Gary’s Games and Glory is packed to the gills with the rain pounding outside. Some of the gamers give you looks of disbelief as you and Wrench head for the doors, unwilling to believe someone would brace the wet when there are battles to wage and win inside - or maybe it was the crowbar Wrench is sporting. Any other time you’d have agreed that inside was the smarter option, but with every step closer to the alley, you can feel your underwear dampening. You’re still pretty stoned, maybe not as high as earlier but high enough to feel your heart thudding on your tongue and further down...

“Stand back - one second,” Wrench mumbles, letting you hold the crowbar and light paper bag while he props the shop door open with a foot, fumbling with the umbrella. With a shake of the bag, you venture it’s filled with condoms… and something else unknown.

The umbrella pops open, peppering with fat drops of rain that torrent down from a dark evening sky. Wrench takes back his crowbar, leaves you clutching the bag and your canvas jacket as his arm snakes back around your waist and just like that you’re out in the rain, half-running with him around to the side alley. Puddles of water splash up, soaking your ankles and converses. 

Down the street, cars whiz by, cutting rain as they go. Every sound feels amplified, and while the chilly, wet denim should feel gross, it’s invigorating. You feel light; elation bubbling up inside you. 

Wrench tugs you around the stolen HAUM van - spray-painted black with green graffiti - and pulls you both out of sight from the street. The umbrella trades hands as Wrench fists his crowbar. The usual street art admirers and drifters are absent, finding shelter from the monsoon pouring down. The solitude, the rain, and the way Wrench sticks the flat edge of the crowbar between the door and jam and makes that - by now familiar - feeling of danger land hotly in your stomach. 

Not that you need much foreplay with Wrench. He, himself, is foreplay and, given an excuse, you'd probably fuck him against the van right now, but this whole evening has gotten you way more horned up than you'd have assumed. It sort of came out of nowhere too. 

Rain digs into the plastic canvas of the umbrella, sleuthing off the sides as Wrench breaks into the already stolen van. 

“... fuck, yeah,” Wrench grunts as the lock pops. The little ding from the dashboard drowns against the pounding rain, and with a wet flourish, Wrench dips into a bow, gesturing inside the darkness, “After you!”

You leave him the umbrella, climbing over the driver’s seat to grapple the headrest. Wrench must have just left it unfolded under the rain, on the fucking ground, because suddenly the door slams shut, drenching the van in utter darkness. His hands are tugging on your thighs before you have a chance to settle in, dragging you close enough that the hard line of his cock bumps your hip.

“I’m pretty sure if you didn’t think of this when you did, Josh was going to have a visual example of the birds and bees. I am soooo fucking hard right now.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” you deadpan, shifting down with a soft moan. 

Wrench’s LEDs provide some of the only light in the van, aside from the bounce back of distant street lamps. 

Double hearts and stars stare down as you press up into his denim-clad cock once more. He stutters, thumbs dug under your hip bones as you thrust awkward and soft between his thighs. Wrench hangs his head low, groans and suddenly his hands pull back, fumbling with his mask.

The dim outline of his face comes into view. You stare, unable, but trying to make out the features that lay naked in the dark. Wrench rests the mask over his forehead, throws the hood down and tips his shoulders back to shake off the studded vest. 

His kiss tastes like burnt weed and something too organic to be anything but his own unique flavor. Overwhelmed, maybe because of the weed or everything, you moan and bend your legs until his hips slide firmly against your own, pressing that hardness right… there. Even through denim, his hard cock presses over your clit - the pleasure forcing you lips open in a wordless cry only for Wrench to touch his tongue to yours, licking with flat swipes until you feel that pang of need start to unravel.

“...fuck,” you breathe deeply. 

Wrench’s mouth moves lower, leaving your moist lips to tingle in the cool air. He noses your neck, bites the skin just along a throbbing artery and lifts your shirt up over your stomach, over your chest, until his thumbs hooks beneath the cusp of your bra and that too is lifted away. 

“Are you-” words freeze in your throat as Wrench sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, tongue lashing hard enough to make a strange jolt thrust down your stomach, beelining between your thighs. You blink in the darkness, arch your back and bear down over his erection; mewling desperately enough that, had you not currently been high, you may have been ashamed. Thankfully, the weed has removed any shame, and you don’t hesitate riding up into his hips as he uses that mouth of his over your breasts. 

Kisses, bites - hard and soft - followed by gentle licks, as if to soothe the ache, leaves you a fucking mess. 

He’s never used his mouth for more than some kisses and the rare necking… and this, just this, is making your mind conjure fantasies of what it’d feel like if he took his kisses further down. What would it feel like to have Wrench eating you out? 

Without warning, Wrench tears his lips away, panting hot breath over an aching nipple, “Fuck me! Did you see where that bag went?!” He swallows, loud enough to resonate in the metal van despite the deafening rain, making you shiver.

“I don't know,” you mumble, grinding into the dip of his hips. Not that you’d be opposed to getting down to it already, but you’ll admit that just this fumbling around with his mouth is doing things to you - awesome fucking things. 

Wrench shoves your hips down into the bench seats, shaking his head based on the dim slash of light above you. “Oh, wait.. shit,” he grunts, cursing in disbelief, “That’s embarrassing. I think I almost creamed my jeans…” he admits, trying to sound funny but ends up sounding more than a little shaken. 

In the dark, you don’t know where the bags gone, and because everything feels fine and dandy and nothing can have any consequences when things feel this good, you start to unbutton your jeans and laugh breathlessly, “... can we do it without a rubber? I wanna feel everything.”

“Fuuuck… yup, yeah, okay,” Wrench groans. 

With his help your jeans come off smooth, falling somewhere under the car breaks along with your converses. You nearly lose your cool when he removes the mask, resting it on the dash and tugs the hoodie over his head, throwing it somewhere into the black hole under the seats. The rain-shadowed light catches the hard curl of his stomach as he braces one hand on the headrest, making saliva flood your mouth. Wrench hisses as you lean in to press your lips to his chest, feeling your way to a small nipple. 

One bite and Wrench makes the sharpest, most greedy inhale; shoulders jerking against your palms. 

“Pretty sure you could drown in my underwear right now… that weeds like nuclear lubricant,” you muse, running your bottom teeth up over the slope of his sternum, catching on the edge of his collarbone before laying sucking kisses up the length of his throat. His Adam's apple bobs under your tongue, and before you can meet his lips, Wrench drags you up into his lap - damp underwear dragging over that bulge again.

“I think I love you,” Wrench admits it less like a confession and more like a reminder. You nod, lips brushing the tip of his nose while his fingers fumble between your bodies to the zipper on his jeans. 

“I think I do too,” you manage easily, despite the gravity of it. Blame the weed again, you think. There's going to be some shy looks on your part and a bunch of adorable hand-holding with Wrench after this, but right now you can't think of anything else but getting his cock free. 

Wrench's knuckles jerk against your damp underwear, hips shimmying until the hard length of his cock springs forth, slapping audibly in the dark. 

A soft rumble of thunder mutes your excited moan. 

Between your lungs, your heart races; pounding so deeply it resonates throughout the rest of your body. You can feel your pulse on your tongue, your lips, fingertips and right between your thighs the most. The world becomes tiny, condensed inside this van with Wrench while he slides an exacto knife from his back pocket and forces the blade through the side of your underwear, foregoing any traditional methods of removing the fabric. Just that in of itself makes the heat in your abdomen burn.

What’s one pair of underwear compared to this? Very little, you think - suddenly thinking of nothing but the way Wrench cups the hot, wet flesh between your legs and curls that middle finger up, wedging it inside. He groans against your ear all the while. Even with just the one finger, you feel stretched… overly swollen and sensitive. A miasma of bliss and adrenaline soaks around a second finger, and sparks fly as he thrusts them carefully, working the edge of his thumb along your hard clit.

“Shit-” you gasp, rolling your hips as Wrench finger fucks you, “... I could finish like this… that - that was some strong shit, Wrench.”

“I’m gonna pretend this is all me, but it sure was some... “ he stutters as your insides flutter and tighten, getting closer to a warm climax, “very tight pussy - tight stuff…”

Wrench stumbles, “I meant strong shit. Didn’t mean to say pussy.”

“It’s alright,” you whisper, churning over his buried fingers as the tight heat starts to settle lower in your gut; building and stacking. With your fingers running up the back of his neck, threading through the short cut of his hair, you stuff your face in the crook of his neck and tense as Wrench plucks an intense, long-lived orgasm from you. The heavy waves crash, tearing softly throughout your stomach; reaching into your limbs and curling your toes. The fizzy grip of weed extends the sensation like slow frame rates. 

“Oh-oh! - fuck, fuuuck…” It feels so stupidly good… and the peak lasts for-fucking-ever, leaving you shivering around his fingers. 

You’re barely on the tail end of your orgasm before Wrench suddenly leaves you empty and then just as quickly, fills you incredibly full. Hot cock impales you as Wrench urges you down into his lap; pounding flesh wedging deep despite how tight your muscles clench - still orgasm fresh. 

“This is gonna be quick… I'm-fuck… I. Am. Right on the edge,” Wrench whispers; clear voice about as bare as you've ever heard it. 

“Hold on then,” you tell him, hearing the rawness in your voice and only briefly wonder who the fuck you've become before you grip the dash and the driver's headrest, grinding close and steady on the beating cock shoved up inside you. Wrench’s pierced cock head rubs that stretched edge between pain and pleasure, but being in his lap like this lets you control the depth. It doesn't hurt unless you want it to… but, even with your ass laid hard on his thighs, it's better than it should be. 

Wrench whimpers, forehead gliding under your chin as he searches for skin to kiss. He pants just under your jaw, tongue tasting the thin sheen of sweat on your skin. Hot swipes of his tongue send a short shiver between your shoulders. Gripping your bare ass with rough hands, Wrench settles back against the driver side door and though it's dark, you think you can see his brows pinch while the lights ping off the gleam in his eyes. 

“Yeah,” he gushes, making tight throaty sounds, “...yea, just - right there.” 

Wrench sucks in a breath, tenses and lets out a rattling groan. You think maybe he's cumming, but his hands just squeeze your ass and more “yes’s and fuck’s” start pouring out instead of jizz. You get it, there's something special about this moment, what with the rain and the ebbing high. He can try to hold it off as long as he wants, but eventually, the moments going to end and he's gonna cum. 

“We should fuck stoned more often,” you gasp, hoping it allows him the relief he needs to just let go. He moans in agreement, hugging you close… so close. 

Wrench arches, tugging you as firmly against his naked chest as he can; hips sliding deep enough to make you stutter close to something like a second orgasm but it's not going to happen before he finishes. The one his fingers gave you is still coasting hard. Another orgasm might be overload.

A crack of thunder makes you tense and clench, garnering an appreciative grunt from Wrench; mouth laid out against your throat. The bump of his nose as he kisses your skin, sends another shiver, this time, down your spine. 

Wrench sinks his teeth under your jaw and growls as gravely as he does outlandish, “... mother fucker. You just get better and better and- ugh! Fuck! Stop, w-wait…”

Too late, you think, moving roughly within Wrench’s brutal, guiding grip; his hands taking fistfuls of your ass, squeezing just as hard as his cock pounds upwards. He’s past the point of no return and the broken way he says “fuck it” into the folds of your lifted shirt confirm what you can already feel. His teeth skim the delicate skin between your bare tits, heaving your name in gushes of hot grunts and groans with each deep dive and shaky thrust. 

The van squeaks on its tires as hot washes of cum warm a part of you that’s not necessarily physical. 

As he cums, you pant his name along the crown of his head, tugging the loose strands with a flat palm against the glass window. The barest of light catches in the dripping condensation along the glass, mixing with rivers of rain. Wrench’s short nails dig into your spine, running soft stinging lines down your back until he’s tipping your hips deeper and closer, gulping messy breathes between your breasts.

You want it to feel like this every time he finishes - like he’s starting a liquid fire inside you, and whether that means you’re going to turn into a pothead or start taking the pill, or both, is something to consider later when this feeling eventually fades. Right now the world feels warm despite it being cold and wet. The pounding of rain just helps contain the feeling that the weed and Wrench’s arms hold inside you. 

“I want to see you,” it comes out of your mouth before your brain can process it. Fucking weed had its drawbacks… but Wrench doesn’t tense or shy away, which could be good or bad. 

You breathe deep, hold it and wait.

“Not yet,” he says against the hiked up shirt at your throat, burying his face into the soft cotton, “but don’t get your panties is a twist. I just need the right mood lighting and the safety exits mapped out, just in case.”

His humor slips in despite still being hard up inside you, but you’re less surprised about that than the fact that-

“Wait, so… are you fucking with me or are you serious?”

“Serious-ish,” Wrench enunciates, chuckling boyishly. The sound and vibrations make your heart skip a beat. The idea of seeing his face, of having asked and not fucked shit up, nearly makes it stop. With another deep, careful breath you lean back, urging his head up. There really isn’t much light to see him with, just the implication of a jawline and circular reflections dotting the wet curse of his left eye.

Even just this makes you swoon a bit. What you glimpsed of him in the monitor that one time has become hazy at best and sometimes it feels like you'd dreamt it all up. 

Why Wrench wears the mask must be more personal than superficial because what the lines of light imply and what your memory can fill in, is handsome. Sexy, even. But you can't be that person that makes him deflect anxiety for humor, or at the very least, you’ll do your best not to be. 

“Not that I don’t want to see you, but…” you tease your thumb inside the dip of his throat, between his collar bones and sigh, “I was honest about the mask. It’s hot anyway, and… whatever makes you comfortable. I love it all, even if you got me in the eye with a spike that one time.”

Wrench slips a hand off your backside to squeeze a breast, a gesture that’s meant to counterbalance the vulnerable tone he uses as he admits, “That’s why I’m going to show you, just not now - not yet.”

He pinches your nipple just as the moment starts to get too serious - just as you're about to get all mushy on him. Wrench gives off a high whistle and another comical squeeze that makes you laugh. The rumble in your chest rolls down to your hips and with a sigh, you feel his cock soften and slip out amongst the mess of cum and fluids.

“Fuck, Wrench,” you curse, “you made one hell of a mess.”

“I’m an avid demolitions expert, we blow huge loads and never look back.”

Despite the way it makes your raw insides clench, you chuckle at the nasty image he plants in your head, “Yeah, well… I guess some of this is me, so I can’t blame you for all of it.”

“Hey, wasn’t my idea to go in sans raincoat, but! - I gotta say… you feel fucking amazing!” It’s strange not seeing the double hearts pop up on his face when he calls you amazing, but there’s something very intimate about hearing the full enthusiasm without the static filter. 

In the darkness, still feeling a bit stoned and fully sedated, you find his lips and give him a soft kiss. 

“You feel good too,” you tell him and lay another kiss at the edge of his mouth before lifting up out of his lap. Wrench shivers and groans, a sound so loud, you giggle. You can feel the cum as it drips out, painting your inner thighs and staining his jeans again. More cum stains to explain away.

Getting dressed takes forever. Lots of dazed limbs and darkness to bump each other with. You end up using your top to wipe away most of the sticky residue, tugging your bra back down over your tits and hiding those under a jacket zipper. 

The unforgiving itch of your jeans against the soft, slippery flesh between your thighs makes you blush, wondering how you're going to face everyone with the constant abrasion. 

Wrench is mumbling about the bag again as you’re tying the last knot on your shoelaces. The next time you took at him his mask is running bright rainbows as it registers his facial cues again, settling on double x’s. The lights cast a short glow but doesn’t extend down into the darkness. 

“Chill, if Marcus finds a bag of condoms on the floor then good for him, we’ve got more,” you mention offhandedly as you stuff your ruined underwear in your pocket.

“Umm, I had another joint in there. What makes steamy sex in a van even better? Well, I’ll tell you, my adorable acorn - a plump joint to share in the afterglow.”

“Mmm,” you muse, smirking as his mask displays double zero's, then double nine's in quick fashion, “I guess Marus will have two surprises then, now come on… I’m hungry enough as it is and I don’t even give a shit if Marcus got the wrong thing at this point.”

“Wanna share?” Wrench asks, high and charmingly hopeful.

After that epic fuck, you can understand how a ramen cup wouldn't cut it, but you grin obnoxiously and lean in, “What’s in it for me?”

Double underscores brighten up the interior of the van as Wrench angles a thumb and pointer finger under his spiked chin, looking deep in thought before exclamations glow at you, “A noisy - and of course erotic - massage within full view of the greasy, foul-mouthed Santa. For some reason, he still doesn’t believe you’re my girlfriend.”

With a short chuckle, you shake your head and climb over him; knee between his thighs and a hand on the door handle, “You’ve got like thirty seconds to think of something more appealing than exhibitionism, or you get to watch me stuff my face with Chinese while you eat a shitty hot pocket.”

“To think the same woman who rocked my widdle world is also a she-devil,” he teases, fixing your jacket around your neck with double hearts, “... sorry about the umbrella by the way.”

“Don’t worry about it, rain might help me look less like I just a royal dicking.”

“Or more. Probably, more.”

“Probably,” you agree, making the first move into the pounding rain. 

Droplets soak your jacket, cooling hot skin beneath. Wrench stomps the puddles behind you; hands clamped on your shoulders with his head down to protect his mask from the pour. Gary’s Games and Glory is freezing, but once down in HQ, the Chinese food is still warm… and of course, Wrench talks his way into half of it, promising you whatever you want as long as Ray has to watch.

Everyone knows where you’d both been, but there’s no weird looks or unspoken shaming. The only thing brought up is when Wrench is gonna be a doll and smoke everyone out because the place still reeks of grape-flavored weed. 

Despite the rain, the remaining three days ends up being a deluge of pot and takeout while you and Wrench sneak around with pervy intent. Pretty impressive considering even with all the fucking off, you and Josh still manage to clean out those Tezca accounts by the time the rain finally stops spitting.

Of course, broke Tezca’s just calls for more celebrating… and Wrench had enough weed for two apocalypses after all...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you all enjoyed more Wrench stuffs. If you have the time, please let me know what you think! <3
> 
> Big thanks to Darth Fucamus for making sure this read properly.
> 
> Tumblr ----> http://brimbrimbrimbrim.tumblr.com/


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